


Name Every Star

by StarSpray



Series: No Tale Tells [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, Gen, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 01:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15898134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: After Doriath's fall, Nellas heads east, with Dior's sons in tow.





	Name Every Star

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SWG's "Discovery" Challenge, using the song "We Know the Way" form Moana as a prompt.  
> Takes place directly after my fic "Time to Uproot"

Nellas had traveled the whole of Neldoreth at various times in her life, and much of Region and Brethil too, but not usually in winter, and never with children. She had been startled to learn that Eluréd and Elurín were only six years old. Túrin had been nine or ten when he had come to Doriath; it seemed these children would age as swiftly as their cousin had. But hopefully they would come to a better end.

It was slow going through the woods, and they had to hide often—someone was searching for Eluréd and Elurín, and Nellas did not recognize the voice as one of their own people. Once she hid the boys in a hollow log and took to the trees to seek the seeker; she found a tall elf with only one hand, his red hair lying in tangled braids over his shoulders, and a bright star on his breast. She'd heard tales of him—Maedhros Fëanorion. As she watched him, Nellas thought the regret in his voice when he called for the boys was genuine, but she did not trust her judgment enough to be certain. Besides, what would he do with them if he found them? Better that their part in this tale should end here. He was looking in all the wrong places anyway.

At last, they left the woods, passing with relative ease through the tattered remnants of enchantment that were all that was left of Melian's Girdle, crossing the River Aros, and then the Celon, and coming to the wide plains of Estolad that stretched from the Celon to Gelion, all rolling hills and waving grass—in summer, anyway. Now they lay beneath a blanket of snow that shone blinding bright under the sun and glimmered softly under the stars.

Eluréd and Elurín had passed through Estolad before, when their parents had brought them from Tol Galen far to the south. But that had been in a large company and on horseback, and in the spring. Nellas had packed as much of her food stores as she could carry, in addition to some lembas Melian had gifted her before leaving Doriath forever—it kept very well, Melian's lembas, and she did not intend to use it until they absolutely had to. They spoke little as they trudged through the snow. Nellas was troubled little by the cold, but the boys were miserable. To keep their spirits up, Nellas told them stories—all the tales she could remember that her parents had told her, from life by Cuiviénen and the Great Journey. Her favorites were the tales of the stars, of the Butterfly that flew too high and got caught in a starry net, of the Eagle that Manwë set to soar higher than any mountain, of the Warrior with his shining belt that strode through the skies in anticipation of the Final Battle at the End of Days, and the Sickle in the northern sky by the Star-kindler; some of the stories the boys knew already, others they had forgotten or never heard. And these tales had the added benefit of teaching the boys how to read the skies, to find the constellations, and certain stars, and to use them to know where they were and which way they were going.

Their progress across then plain was slow; they were terribly exposed there, especially against the snow. But Nellas was glad for it—orcs could not travel much quicker than they could, and she didn't think any would be roaming the plains at this time of year anyway, although every time they managed to light a fire she worried that it would be seen. But they saw no one else in that wide, lonely land, not even animals, except for the occasional glimpse of an eagle far overhead. But finally, they came to the River Gelion, ice-crusted and sluggish at this time of year, although it would not be long before the thaw would bring it roaring to life again. Nellas stood with Eluréd and Elurín on either side, gazing down the steep banks at the water.

"How will we cross?" Elurín asked.

"Not here," Nellas said. She'd had some vague ideas of rope bridges, but she wasn't sure the boys could manage one yet, and anyway there was nothing to affix a rope to on either bank. "We'll have to follow it south to the ford." She had never seen the ford herself, but she knew from travelers' tales that it was where the Dwarven road was that led up to the Ered Luin, to Belegost and Nogrod. Nellas didn't want to go to either city—especially not anywhere near Nogrod—but the road would be much safer, and much quicker, than trying to find their own way across the mountains. Her greatest worry was that they might meet the Sons of Fëanor on the road, or their servants.

"Oh, Sarn Arthrad!" said Eluréd as they started walking again. "That was where our father and Grandfather Beren fought the Dwarves! Do you think we'll see the gold in the Ascar?"

"Gold in the Ascar?" Nellas repeated. It was the boys' turn to be storytellers, then, as they told her about the fight with the Dwarves who had slain Thingol and stolen the Nauglamír and other treasures, and how after the battle Beren had taken only the Nauglamír with the Silmaril, and had the rest of the treasure cast into the river. Eluréd and Elurín had glimpsed the battleground on their own journey north to Doriath from Tol Galen, but they had been moving too quickly to get a good look at the water.

They came without trouble to the dwarf road, that lay straight and true, having been well-tended for many hundreds of years, though now the edges were looking a bit frayed and overgrown, as the Dwarves came less and less into Beleriand. There was no sign of other travelers as they made their way carefully across the ford, the water cold as ice, up to Nellas' knees. She carried first Elurín, then Eluréd across, not wanting them to catch a chill. She had seen Túrin ill once or twice after he had done something ill-advised regarding the cold and wet, and she did not want to risk either of the twins sniffling—or worse. Once across they did stop to peer into the Ascar, and there they could, indeed, see the occasional glimmer of gold at the muddy bottom.

East of the Gelion the plains ended, and the land was patched with woodland and brush. This allowed them to build fires at night, and gave Nellas the opportunity to do a bit of hunting, though she had little luck. Still they met no one, until they got into the foothills of the Ered Luin, where the forest was thicker. When Nellas saw the first signs of other recent travelers on the road, she had Eluréd and Elurín pull their hoods low. "Should we meet anyone, let me speak to them," she said, crouching in front of them one frigid morning, their breath wreathing about them in pale clouds. Elurín was shivering. "It is likely that anyone who survived what happened thinks the two of you are dead," she said. It was always better, she thought, to speak plainly to children. Softening the truth would do them no good now. "They will say you starved or froze in the wood, and for now that is good. I do not know if they found what they were looking for in Menegroth, but if they didn't they might come looking for you, thinking that you have it. And the Enemy in the north would hunt you merely because you are the grandsons of Beren and Lúthien. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the boys said together, after a moment. "Does this mean we need to take new names?" Eluréd said.

"Not unless you want to."

They looked at each other only briefly before shaking their heads, in agreement in this as in most things. "I wish we knew who had escaped from Doriath," Elurín said after a moment. "If Elwing…"

"It may be a very long time before we hear news," Nellas told them, as gently as she could. Perhaps she should have gone back to Menegroth after rescuing them and tried to find out more. But it was far too late for those regrets. She stood and brushed frozen dirt off her knees. "Come on, let's keep going. We'll be in the mountains, soon."

It was a good thing they found the road when they did, because clouds started to gather overhead and did not break for days, hanging dark and heavy, threatening either snow or rain, though none came. They were passed a few times by parties of Dwarves hurrying back to their mountain homes after errands in the west. Nellas pushed the boys harder than she would have otherwise, hoping to get through the mountain pass before the weather turned bad.

They nearly made it; snow fell as they began their descent on the eastern slopes, fast and thick, and it was only luck that they found an abandoned cave to wait out the storm. Nellas checked it thoroughly before letting the boys inside, but found no sign of recent habitation, or of any hidden openings in which something unpleasant might be lurking. Fortunately, it was not a very deep cave, but even so she could sense the great weight of earth overhead, and she did not like it.

They built a small fire near the entrance, and Nellas brought out a piece of lembas for the three of them to share. "Will you tell us again the story of the Butterfly?" Eluréd asked as the wind whistled over the cave's mouth, and snow piled up outside.

"Or how Elwë and Finwë and Ingwë went to Valinor to see the Trees!" Elurín added. "Or—"

Nellas laughed. "I'll start with the Butterfly," she said.

Late that night the snow stopped, and the clouds parted. Nellas was awake, keeping watch. As a west wind scattered the last remnants of the snow clouds, she saw the Sickle swinging low on the northern horizon, bright as ever.


End file.
